Wayward Children
by XLikeFireAndIceX
Summary: A series of drabbles/one-shots, some interconnected, weaving the tumultuous story of Dean and Elena's relationship. AU. Will feature other prominent characters, the focus of course being on Dean and Elena.
1. Eye of the Storm

Wayward Children

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Summary: A series of unrelated drabbles/one-shots – some interconnected - centred around Dean and Elena's sometimes-more-than friendly relationship.

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_#1_

_Eye of the Storm_

...

"You gotta know there's worse out there than storms, right?" An exasperated Dean was at the end of his tether, a low murmured response smothered by pillows lost on his ears. "Right?"

Elena popped her head from out of the pillow, her glare meant to be frightening, but to a boy who'd seen far worse in the wide world beyond these four walls, it did nothing but amuse him. Her attempts at scaring him were half-hearted, at best, although she declared she was determined to find something that terrified him. He always replied smugly, "Yeah, good luck with that," which always evoked a violent response in return.

"Storms are scary, you dweeb," she declared. "You telling me the thought of being struck by lightning doesn't scare you?"

"Told you, kiddo, I don't scare easily. Neither does Sam. We're made of sterner stuff than what you are," he teased, tapping his chest with his fist as if to prove he was made of tough stuff.

"Ass," she spat.

"Ah, ah, ah... If your mom overhears you using that word, I won't be invited back. You got that? She thinks I'm a bad enough influence as it is."

"I don't care." She gave him a sly smile. "Does my _mom _scare you?"

"No."

"She _so _does."

He locked an arm around her neck, dragging her across her own bed before chucking her blankets on top of her, much to her surprise. She shrieked and wrestled them off of her, her lips twisted into this adorable pout he knew would just one day suck all the boys in, if her eyes which dripped with innocence didn't get them first.

Eight years were between them. She was teetering on the edge of thirteen, he was just into his twenty first year, which he'd naturally celebrate with a bar crawl as he and his father, and an ever growing Sam, continued to traipse up and down various states, hunting and killing things that went bump in the night – and more often than not, the things that didn't give any audible sign of their presence. He'd told Elena various bits and pieces, but he'd made them into stories, and she'd never taken them with anything but a pinch of salt – pun reluctantly intended.

"Women don't scare me," he declared, grabbing a scoop of her hair before wrestling it against her face.

"Jerk!" she muttered darkly.

Dean chuckled, biting back the knee jerk response that word triggered. That was an inside joke only he and his brother shared.

"Where are you off to next?" she sighed.

"I told you, 'Lena, I never get to choose. It's wherever the wind takes me."

"Why don't you ever get to choose?" she asked, her eyes widening a fraction, an alternative question bubbling there he would never get used to reading in her eyes.

What she always wanted to ask was _why do you even put up with this life when it's abundantly clear you hate it? _

He didn't hate this life at all; he hated what it brought out in him, the skills which would gain him no normal job should be careless enough to actually put them down on a resume. He hated the fact that Sam hated this life – always had – and it had never been clearer than these last few years, and it made him feel like he was forcibly dragging his brother along with his dad's plans, but what other option did he have? He needed his brother.

But the road trips, the constant uncertainty of his life, the adventure he lived every day, never knowing which day could be his last?

He _loved _that part of it. Elena was going to be completely different, he knew that for sure. She would meet a boy, go off to college, get married and have that whole white picket fence life he wanted for her.

Then again, she might have a different approach to her future altogether; Elena Gilbert had always been unpredictable like that. He just hoped wherever she ended up in life, it was where she wanted to be, not what someone else had dictated for her.

A loud rumble of thunder caused Elena to whimper, diving under the covers like she was a six year old. He smirked at her behaviour.

"You know, you're gonna have to get over your fears of thunderstorms sometime."

"Maybe so, but not today," she insisted haughtily. "I'm fine going another day hating th – WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

With a sudden movement, Dean had whipped the blanket off of her, grabbed her waist and had flung her over his shoulders before marching downstairs, past a sleepy looking Jeremy who'd come to see what the commotion was. He was greeted by a concerned looking Miranda Gilbert, who eyed the scene with a mixture of concern and wry amusement.

"Dean – "Miranda pinched the ridge of her nose. "Why are you manhandling my daughter?"

"An experiment, ma'am," he reported dutifully, grinning at her. He had always liked her, because despite her stern ways she was a good laugh. "I'm simply proving a point to your daughter. I'm just taking her outside."

"But it's raining."

"My demonstration depends on it."

Miranda sighed.

"Why do I even let you through my door? You're like the third child I never had."

"If you even consider adopting him, I'll move in with Caroline," Elena threatened, still perched on Dean's shoulder, her arms and legs flailing wildly, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

"I'm a little old for adoption, kiddo," Dean laughed. "But appreciate the sentiment all the same."

"Is this really necessary?" Miranda directed this towards Dean, who visibly softened.

"It'll help her in the long run," he assured her.

She nodded her approval, and he strode towards the front door and launched it open, the rain lashing its way down, and he kept on walking until eventually he found a decent spot to plant a still struggling Elena on her feet.

"What was the point of that?" she yelled over the thunder.

"Can't go your whole life being afraid of something without knowing what it is you're really afraid of," he yelled back.

"What in God's name is that supposed to mean? Why do you talk in riddles all the time? It's SO annoying!"

"It means that you're probably not really afraid of thunderstorms. You're afraid of what they might do to you, which loosely translated means you're not so much scared of the danger, but what the danger can do."

"WHAT?" Elena didn't understand that one bit. "Are you secretly a psychologist or something, or are you just smoking something that makes every word out of your mouth sound insane?"

He grinned at her, the rain causing her hair to cling to her face, and the result equalled a girl he couldn't entirely take seriously because she looked so darn funny. Every time her hand pushed her hair out of her eyes, another would get caught on her hand and replace the bit she'd just pushed away.

"I used to be scared of thunderstorms too," he told her. "But my dad told me that to be scared of the natural is just absurd, so he took me out in one and told me we were going to wait it out."

"No offence, but your dad kinda scares me."

He smiled tightly at that. If you didn't know the guy well enough, of course he would scare you. John Winchester was intense, driven by a grief that had caused him to go to some very dark places – literal and figurative – to try and get some closure out of it all, and he'd dragged his sons with him. Dean could adapt to any situation, but he worried about Sam, but to express those concerns earned him a stern look that had him quickly backing down. Maybe that wasn't the way his dad should've been running things, but hell they were all alive and together weren't they? Most of the time anyway.

His dad made routine trips back to Mystic Falls, because he was interested in the history of the town, how even before the civil war it had attracted a spat of supernatural incidents that other hunters over the years had documented. Somehow in that time he was made a member of the Council, but given a minor role that allowed him to come and go as he pleased, which worked well given the fact his father only returned here once every six months, if they were that lucky. He'd made friends with some of the founding families here, including the Gilberts, and though some of their children were obnoxious – here he was thinking of that little punk Tyler Lockwood, the pampered son of the Mayor – he'd found himself connecting with Elena, whose first remark towards him had centred around one of his (many) scars, to which he'd created this elaborate tale, which had been half true just exaggerated to favour him more, which she'd snorted at, but been fascinated by all the same.

She was going to be a heartbreaker when she was older, and he'd known it the moment he'd first laid eyes on her. Dark hair that cascaded down her shoulders and felt like silk when you ran your hands through it, warm brown eyes that ensnared you at first glance, a slender body that curved in all the right places, she was definitely the definition of a beauty queen. But in his world, girls like her were the first ones demons possessed or killed, and so he aimed to keep her out of his world as much as possible by making the stories he told sound so unbelievable, that even if one slither of the truth ever escaped his lips, the implausibility of the rest would discard any nagging doubts she might had over the authenticity of the whole tale.

Now, in the pouring rain, he realised he was trying to imprint a lesson on her that his father had imprinted on his. Maybe he had to take a step back when it came to her, otherwise without realising it, he would drag her into his world, and there would be no telling how long she would survive. Maybe a day, maybe longer. The women in his world, when they weren't one night stands he hurried away before they could settle in his heart, tended to die, and he really couldn't afford that kind of pain in his life again. Having a blooming young woman, who was sometimes like a sister, other times like that kid your parents made you play with as a child even when you clearly didn't want, on the sidelines was both a blessing and a curse, in that he looked forward to the day when they pulled up in Mystic Falls and she was there, waiting for him with another tale regarding boy trouble falling off her lips, but at the same time knowing with a heart-wrenching certainty that they would come a day when some supernatural creature would use her against him in some shape or form.

A loud rumble of thunder chorused across the bruised skies, and his head instinctively turned towards Elena, but rather than appear frightened, she stood her ground, closing her eyes, her skin slightly pale but her expression one of determination. She was determined to endure, to survive, and as he glanced back at the house, he saw Miranda from the window, slightly bemused but otherwise wearing a smile that told him she knew what he was up to.

The hour couldn't have been more than eight in the evening, but the skies were almost pitch-black, save for the streaks of violet made visible by the lightning. The rain had slowed its pace, reduced to a fine drizzle.

"I'm surprised my mom let you drag me out here," Elena commented suddenly, taking him by surprise. "She doesn't trust me with anybody that she hasn't grown up with, or watched grow up." She smiled teasingly at him. "Maybe you're not as much of a bad influence as you say you are."

"I know how to turn on the charm when I need to," he replied, not really bragging because it was another skill he possessed, only his charm tended to be directed towards figures of authority to convince them of a false identity he and his father had concocted to avoid detection as they moved from city to city saving people, hunting things in the nature known as the family business.

"I'll say," Elena agreed, chuckling. "This isn't so bad you know... once you're in the thick of it."

She closed her eyes out of habit as a flash of lightning speared the night sky. Instinctively, he strode over to her, throwing a rough arm around her, nestling her against his side. He'd done this same trick with Sam; maybe it was just sheer instinct in general just to keep the people he cared about close to him, in case the next time he looked around they were gone.

They stood there for a few moments before his father suddenly surfaced, after having met with Grayson Gilbert to discuss something even Dean wasn't privy to. He recognised the look in his father's eyes to signal that they were off again, and he turned to Elena, her smile slowly fading.

"Not again," she sighed. "You know Caroline still thinks I've made you up, you know? You'll have to stick around one day to actually meet her."

He ruffled her damp hair with a soft chuckle.

"Being an imaginary friend to you kind of works. Why spoil the illusion?"

She shoved him roughly.

"Idiot," she grumbled.

"Gil-brat," he returned just as quickly.

And that was the way they said goodbye.

"Come along, Dean," his father said briskly, walking towards the parked Impala which always drew stares whenever they were here.

"You'll come back in six months?" Elena asked hopefully.

"Yep," he spoke, popping the 'p' humorously. "With any luck."

And he pulled her into a one arm hug before walking away, each goodbye becoming more and more painful for some strange reason.

Once every six months was the schedule he and his father had adopted in regards to coming back to Mystic Falls. Once he'd been nosing around Elena's room and realised she marked her calendar to prepare for his homecoming, or that's the way she saw it – why remind her that he had no home other than the open road and his dad's Impala? – and it oddly touched him, because no one else would bother going to such efforts for him.

A spate of possessions, however, followed by some troubling omens, meant that the next time he rolled into Mystic Falls would be just after her seventeenth birthday, when both their worlds would be changed forever.

* * *

**A/n: I don't really know what the age gap between Dean and Elena would be, but I'd put it at about eight years. So yeah, whether this gets romantic or not is really up to my twisted mind, but I just adore exploring the potential between them. These one-shots may or may not be in order. I prefer to write them as I dream them up. I'll aim to post up one a week, but knowing me I'll end up posting another one today haha :D **


	2. A Grief Never Shared

Wayward Children

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Summary: A series of unrelated drabbles/one-shots – some interconnected - centred around Dean and Elena's sometimes-more-than friendly relationship.

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_#2_

_A Grief Never Shared_

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She was in a state of numbness; her fingers trembled as they attempted to put her silver hoop earrings, the small ones her grandmother had bought her once upon a time, into her ears. Once that task was complete, her hands travelled to her small black dress, patting it down, searching for creases that weren't there.

Everybody hated funerals, but a double funeral had to be an even worse concept altogether. Watching one coffin being lowered into the ground was like a solid punch to the gut; watching two was like having the air ripped from your lungs. She remembered her grandparents' funeral, how they had gone peacefully one after the other, yet the circumstances of their deaths hadn't made the service any less painful, the sight of the twin coffins still engraved in her memory, still painful to a degree, but this was just so much worse.

Her thoughts were scattered, flicking from one morbid topic to the next, her heart swelling and deflating in equal measures to a slow, sad, aching rhythm that only be explained by a deep grief that stretches deep into your soul. Guilt and a sense of utter bereavement settled inside her, dominating her every thought, tainting every memory, and she blinked back treacherous tears, aware she was perfectly in her rights to cry but at the same time knowing if she let loose one tear, the rest would burst open the floodgates, and she'd never stop. And at the same time, she was wrestling with the knowledge that another year had gone by, and Dean wasn't here.

Maybe she was a fool to expect a man to keep to a promise, even when all evidence seemed to point to the fact this particular man was usually good at keeping that promise. And although she knew she would be surrounded by her loved ones – Caroline, Bonnie, Matt, as well as Jenna and Jeremy – there was just one more face she craved to be present at easily the worst moment of her life. She wanted to fold herself into his arms, pretend she was off on one of his adventures – and she knew there had to be more than his bullshit story about how he and his dad liked road trips a lot than he was letting on – and just forget the grief she had to look forward for the rest of her life.

And it was her fault too.

Twin trails marked her cheeks as she found herself unable to contain the emotion she'd been bottling up, and she found herself sitting down on her window ledge, looking down at the crowd of people gathered on her lawn, waiting to go off to the service together, because that was how things were done in this town; if someone died, everybody flocked around you like flies around honey, offering words you just didn't need right now in a bid to ease their minds, but at the end of the day they got to go home without really having lost anybody except another couple of standing members of the community.

Dean would've understood, she thought. He'd lost a mother very young, and although he never talked about her, she imagined he still carried the grief around with him. That's why he would've known what to say to her other than the obligatory condolences she'd come to loathe. He would've told her that it never got any easier, rather than spoon feeding her a load of bullshit about how time heals all wounds, and he would've made a mockery of the whole funeral concept just to squeeze a smile out of her.

He would've done the big brother job and much more beside.

Jeremy... well... she knew he was still coming to terms with it all. They'd shared a cursory hug, a few tears in the hospital, but after that, they'd departed into their separated corners – separate stages – of grief. He'd been a casual drug user before the accident, and she knew this already, but now it was like he needed it just to stay alive. She knew at some point she would have to pull him back from the path he was wandering down, but right now she could cut him slack.

"Hey." Jenna's voice cut across her thoughts. "How you doing over there?"

Her aunt – young, fresh faced, with red circles around her eyes to mark her own grief – wasn't that much older than her, which Jeremy had used to be delighted by, throwing jibes and teasing remarks her way whenever it was family night, and when that had stopped, it had marked the end of something.

Clad in a knee length dress, not quite black in colour but dark enough that it suited the sombre occasion just fine, Jenna wrung her hands, evidently searching for the right words to say, but they both knew there were none.

"I'm – I'm coping," was about the most honest answer Elena could give at this moment. "I thought finding out they were gone would be the hardest thing I would ever have to cope with, but this – this is much worse. I have to say goodbye, and knowing I was the reason they were out there – " She choked back more emotion, more tears she wished would just leave her be for a while. "It hurts, Jenna, and I don't know how to make it stop."

"When our parents died, I felt the same," Jenna replied sombrely. "Nobody tells you how to grieve properly, what the right reaction is. Of course, there's no right or wrong way to grieve, you just do what comes naturally to you. But I felt horrible because I couldn't shed a single tear when I wanted to. And Miranda... well, she told me that it was natural to feel absolutely nothing, because I was still in shock. She told me it would've done more damage to their memory if I'd forced out tears when I wasn't ready, rather than watching them be buried feeling absolutely nothing. And it wasn't until the morning afterwards that I fell apart." She locked eyes with Elena. "You never knew your Grandma Josephine and Grandpa Bernard, but you remind me so much of them. They would've loved you."

Elena nodded, numbly accepting this mindless chatter to distract from the real point of the day. Her dad's parents – Maggie and Samuel Gilbert – hadn't been the conventional grandparents at all, more like the fun aunt and uncle you see once a month or so, armed with a bunch of weird and sometimes inappropriate stories. Elena felt a stabbing pang of nostalgia just thinking about them.

Grandparents were never meant to stay very long in child's world anyway, but the older they get, the more you couldn't help thinking they were invincible, immortal to a degree, and when they eventually did pass away, the grief felt more like disbelief; as in _how could they die when they appeared to have so much more of their life left to live?_

Parents though... they were meant to stay for longer, seeing you through graduation, prom, all those high school rituals before sending you off to college with teary eyes and shaking hands. They were meant to give you away on your wedding, help guide you through parenthood yourself, and then pass away on one of those days where you think nothing in your life could possibly go wrong, peacefully and secure in the knowledge that the children they'd raised would do well in the world they'd left behind. True, they weren't meant to outlive their children, but their children weren't meant to outlive by this much either.

"Where's Jeremy?" she sniffed, managing to pull herself together.

"With your Uncle John." Jenna sniffed haughtily. "Did I mention how much that guy pisses me off?"

Elena laughed a little, reminded of what Dean's description had been of John the one occasion he'd met him.

_"That meathead's your uncle? As in a relative of yours?" _he'd blurted out, looking disgusted. _"He looks like a scrawny weasel, and did I mention how in just one sentence alone he managed to piss me off? I thought that was a trait only Sammy possessed, but clearly not..."_

There it was again; that misplaced pang that just didn't belong to this moment. She felt a flood of affection stir inside her, but it was clear Dean had forgotten all about her. Still, she would've thought he would've come to the funeral for her parents' sakes, because he'd gotten on quite well with them.

Or maybe everything she knew about him was just wrong.

"Come on." Jenna linked an arm through hers. "Only good thing about funerals is that they turn a blind eye to minors like yourself drinking some alcohol at the wake afterwards. God knows we both a drink or seven."

"Jenna!"

"Humour on inappropriate occasions is my coping method, by the way. In case it wasn't obvious," Jenna clarified, smiling even though it looked too forced, too distorted with sadness to be considered sincere, and Elena had to remember she may have lost her parents, but Jenna had lost a sister, someone she'd grown up with.

This loss wasn't just hers and Jeremy's to bear.

She realised at this point something had changed within her for good. Maybe it was that innocence Dean had loved about her evolving into this maturity which meant she had to grow up a little earlier than necessary. Maybe it was the fact she no longer trusted the world not to hurt her. Maybe it went even deeper than that, and it was in fact to do with her optimism in life changing into this cynicism that would distort every view she she'd ever had.

Elena had no idea, but the change unsettled her.

For her own peace of mind, she had to put aside everything that didn't matter – her petty concerns regarding school and the like, trivial matters like school dances (which Caroline had been harping on about since god knows when), even, to an extent, her weirdly indefinable relationship with Dean – and focus on getting herself and Jeremy through all of this, even if it took every bit of energy she possessed to do so.

* * *

A few states over, in a grimy diner that had seen better days, a figure clad in a leather jacket and a loose fitting v-neck pored over the Mystic Falls Gazette, his eyes specifically on the front headline, his fingers tracing the words carefully, a blend of sadness and resignation swirling in his eyes.

**TRAGEDY ON WICKERY BRIDGE - TWO CONFIRMED DEAD**

He was loosely debating whether or not to tell Sam about this, because Sam right now was in a position where he could empathise with Elena completely. His girlfriend had just been killed, in the same manner as their mother, and though he was personally indifferent to her death, he felt intensely grief-stricken for his brother having to actually witness her death, and in such a horrific and brutal manner too.

And now it seemed his sympathy had to extend all the way back to Mystic Falls, a place he'd not visited in a long, long time. How old would she be now? Sixteen? Seventeen? It was hard to keep track.

Both Miranda and Grayson had been killed though, that was the issue at hand here, in an accident of all things. Maybe he should've felt a measure of relief that that was all it seemed to have been - an accident - because he didn't want his life haunting her world; hadn't that been what he'd told himself every time he felt the urge to follow his gut and head back there? At first circumstances had kept him from going back, but then it had become harder and harder to weave himself into doing anything relatively normal, let alone attempting to make a hasty trip back to Mystic Falls, the one town he could've called home at one point.

But everything after that last visit had just taken a sharp decline. His father and Sam's relationship deteriorated to the point where Sam had headed off to college for a normal life, and he'd stuck with his father because there was no way he could've gone back to a normal life, even if he'd so desired it. Omens and signs had consistently cropped up, leading his father into a merry chase that often meant they resurfaced with deep bruises and cuts (nothing new there) and relatively low spirits, because the hunt was all they knew anymore, and John was convinced he was ever closer to finding the demon which had killed their mother, but Dean was becoming less and less sure as time went by.

God, life seemed to suck for all of them.

He debated whether or not to make a trip back to Mystic Falls, just for the funeral, but there was a chance he wouldn't make it in time, and there was just so much he and Sam had to do in the way of finding their father, who was off on what could only be described as a mad man's errand. He loved his father but sometimes he longed for the man who had smiling eyes, complemented with a loud boom of a laugh, and not the man he had instead, with dark eyes, a dark grimace of a smile, and every trace of kindness eradicated in favour of protecting his family and avenging his wife's death.

"What ya reading?" Sam asked, peering over his brother's shoulders.

Quick as a flash, Dean had rolled up the newspaper, which he'd procured from a newsstand en route that seemed to deal with selling every newspaper – local and national – imaginable, which was lucky for him, and tucked it out sight.

"Just scouting for new cases," he lied smoothly.

"But on the front page, it said there was two deaths – "

"An accident," Dean said, wondering who he was trying to convince here, Sam or himself. "Just an accident."

"Huh." Sam plonked himself opposite his brother. "Alright then."

It was anything but alright, but since Sam and Elena had only been introduced on the one occasion, and Sam had been very young at the time, he figured it was better keeping this one secret from his brother.

He just wondered how Elena was coping, what she looked like now, and whether she even remembered him.

_Hold on, kiddo, _he thought to himself, not a praying man by any means but mentally wishing her nothing but happiness for the future all the same, _it doesn't get better, I wish I could say it did. But I'd be lying. I just hope this is the only sadness your life ever sees. _

It just went to show how fucked up his own life was that he didn't believe for one second this would be the only great tragedy in her life, because terrible things tended to happen to the people he cared about, but he tried to put as much conviction and hope into his thoughts as much he could, like it would make a damn bit of difference.

_Next time I visit, _he promised himself, _I'm gonna tell her everything. _

The logic behind this crazy idea was that she wouldn't believe him on first hearing – no one ever did – and she would tell him to leave her alone – best thing for her really – but at least if the supernatural ever entered her life, no one could say he hadn't warned her.

He'd get brownie points for trying though, right?

* * *

A/n: I know the timelines of the shows don't exactly match with the points of time I'm describing, but to hell with it. This is AU. I'll keep events in chronological order – unless I'm flashbacking – but that'll be about it. So yeah, thanks for the reviews for the first chapter. Excited to take this crossover fic to some quite dark places in the future.


	3. Sibling Rivalry

Wayward Children

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Summary: A series of unrelated drabbles/one-shots – some interconnected - centred around Dean and Elena's sometimes-more-than friendly relationship.

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_#3_

_Sibling Rivalry_

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The first time he ever saw her, he was sixteen. He'd bypassed that awkward stage most prepubescent kids go through, and he was already aware of how good looking he was. He attracted female attention wherever he went, and he thrived on it, much to his father's chagrin. Clad in dark jeans and a loose fitting top, his hair slightly overgrown for someone his age, lanky in nature, skinny as a beanpole, it wasn't hard to see what females saw in him, but he carried a lot of baggage that would've chased all of them away, so he always made up a different name, a different story, and they all believed each lie that fell from his lips.

Some would've said he was a born liar, but that wasn't true by any means.

He was just ridiculously good at passing his life off as relatively normal, which it wasn't, and the irony of his life was that most kids try to look cool by making their lives seem like something from the movies, and yet his life actually was something you could film and pass off as a sci-fi movie, but he couldn't tell a single soul about it, because there were some things – no matter how real they were – you just didn't go around telling people.

When his father told him they were going to hit a town called Mystic Falls, he knew he was going to loathe going there, just by the name alone. It sounded like it was going to be one of those picture perfect towns that had a billion different events going on just to make itself stand out from any other town, and he hated those kinds of places. Give him a town with a little know ghost problem any day over this clichéd trite.

John pulled the Impala up to one of those picturesque houses every naive first time house buyer believed they'll end up with. It was a two storey house with a porch and a porch swing to match, surrounded by a white picket fence – _give him strength_, this was just getting more and more cliché by the minute – and a lush patch of lawn that surrounded it like a moat.

"Looks cute," he commented drily, as his father brakes the car and makes a motion to get out. "Need me to babysit Sammy while you scope the layout of this place?"

"Both of you are coming with me," John replied curtly, never a man to let his emotions get the best of him. "This town has a long standing history with the supernatural, so we may make more than one trip here, and according to my research, the founding families are always the best people to ask – starting with the Gilberts."

A yawning Sam made his appearance, sticking his head up from the back of the car, his eyes filled with sleep, his mouth twisted into a _where-the-hell-are-we _type of grimace, and Dean knew by all these clues his brother hadn't slept at all – in fact he'd probably just managed to catch a few winks a few miles before they'd approached this town, only to be awakened by the gruff volumes of his father's voice.

"All due respect, sir, we've been on the road for twelve hours. Let me find a motel so Sam can get some shut eye. We'll only be in the way if you're here on business."

"You're both coming with me and that's final. End of discussion."

Dean gave a heavy sigh, but elected not to push the matter any further.

He followed his father's orders blindly because the one night he hadn't had almost cost them Sam's life, although in all fairness how could you expect an older brother to be cooped up, watching over his younger sibling, for that period of time without anticipating that he might just crave a little distraction for five minutes or so.

He ducked his head, falling silent under his father's intense look of scrutiny, his eyes falling to his brother's, nodding for him to join them. With a weary look, his brother – a teenager himself, but a strangely morose one – hopped out of the car, instinctively by his side in a second, because in moments like this, the only thing that helped him recover from these intense talking downs from their father was the knowledge that Sam still – remarkably – looked up to and admired him.

They both hung back as their father knocked on the door and introduced himself, walking inside awkwardly as a couple with warm smiles and bright eyes greeted them. He found himself freezing as the woman – a dark haired woman with soft plum coloured lips, and a faint blush caressing her cheeks – instinctively wrapped her arms around him, before pulling back and introduced herself as Miranda.

The last time a woman had her arms around him, it'd been after a somewhat sleazy make out session, and he'd received word from his father that they were about to take off again, and the girl had just been surprisingly clingy and overemotional when he'd told her he was leaving. That was the kind of affection he was used to getting – quick bursts of it from girls who fell in love with his face, but gave him no second thoughts after he was gone – not this kind of maternal driven affection that just confused and bemused him seeing how little he'd had of it.

He shook hands with her other half – who introduced himself as Grayson – after which they both disappeared with her father into what appeared to be a study area, leaving him and Sam standing around, feeling and looking awkward.

A loud wail suddenly broke their eardrums, and a six year old boy with a mop of auburn hair hurtled down the hallway, in floods of tears.

"THAT'S NOT TRUE!" he bawled as he ran. "YOU'RE A LIAR!"

Bemused, Dean and Sam shared a look before an exasperated Miranda surfaced, apologising profusely for the behaviour of her youngest child.

"This little terror is Jeremy, my youngest," she introduced. "My eldest child, Elena, I assume is somewhere making trouble."

"Your _daughter_ is the troublemaker of the family?" Dean found that hard to believe. "For real?"

"She has..." Miranda struggled to find the right word she was looking for to adequately describe her daughter, "...fire. When she wants to be, she's an angel, but when she misbehaves, she's something else entirely."

Dean was conditioned to react to those last few words with an entirely different response, but instead he found himself grinning at the idea of a little girl terrorising her younger brother. It was a taste of family life he hadn't been a part of; even cooped up together, he and Sam had never had that many arguments, just the ones revolving around their father's real mission, which slowly Dean had been filling his brother in on seeing how he was old enough to understand.

"While I sort Jeremy out, will you go and keep an eye on my daughter, Dean?" Miranda enquired. "She won't be much trouble, and I wouldn't ask but you look like you're responsible, and your father says he needs to talk to me and my husband, so..."

"Where is she?"

Dean was nothing, if not respectful.

"Out in the garden."

"I hate Elena," Jeremy stated petulantly. "She's so mean."

"We don't use that word," Miranda scolded. "And you love your sister, Jeremy, don't say things like that."

Jeremy squirmed by her side.

"Only when she's nice," he admitted.

"Why don't you show Sam your toy collection?" It was a tactic clearly designed to keep both her children distracted while she talked business with his dad, and Dean had to admire her strategy. "I'm sure he would love to see them."

"Okay," Jeremy said, looking at Sam shyly.

Dean gave Sam a playful shove, aware Sam wasn't particular one for social interaction, but the kid was six years old, so how much trouble could he be? He watched with an element of satisfaction that his brother was going along with it, even though he wore a tired expression that clearly stated he didn't want to be here, an expression that Dean was coming to realise didn't just mean wherever they were at the time, but just in general.

He made his way through the house once Jeremy had tentatively taken Sam's hand and lead him upstairs, observing with a nostalgic pang all the touches that made this a home, from the hand drawn pictures on the fridge as he walked through the kitchen, to the various photographs kept on display around the house. This was what a home was supposed to look like, what he'd wanted his to look like even after their mother had died, but it was too late to achieve that anymore. There were the faintest notes of discord settling between Sam and their father, he'd noticed that as of late, and though he tried to act as the buffer when things became too intense, he was starting to think the whole family road trip think was only going to last for so much longer before Sam broke away for good. His younger brother had often confessed he wanted to go to college and be normal, which kind of broke Dean's heart a little at the idea that his brother might one day leave them for good.

Sighing heavily at the thought, he made his way out to the garden, noticing the various toys strewn across the freshly cut grass, a lone child of about eight years with dark brown hair perched on the grass with her legs folded, a cross expression on her face. For some reason, she had a pillow out here and was proceeding to punch it with such fervour, he couldn't help but admire the strength she possessed at such young an age.

"Who are you?" she asked, not even stopping to even look at him.

"Dean." He could've come up with any name, but he figured it wasn't worth lying to a child who would very easily forget him the moment he left. "You must be Elena." He watched her punch the pillow until he had to intervene. "Let me hold that for you."

She finally looked at him, taking in everything about him, her eyebrows raised quizzically.

"Why?"

"Because I've done the whole punch-the-pillow routine myself, and it's much more effective when you get someone to hold it for you. Makes you feel like you're hitting a real person."

A slow smile spread on her face.

"Most grownups tell me not to do it altogether in case I hurt myself," she said slowly.

"I'm not most grownups now, am I?"

"I dunno. You're a stranger," she pointed out. "You could be worse than all the other grownups put together."

In answer to that comment, he simply took the pillow from her and held it up, loving the Cheshire grin that emerged, followed by the determined glow her eyes took on. Her first punch was weak, but the rest that followed were strong, and fairly accurate in aim. Only a couple went amiss, and he put that down to the fact she was in an agitated mood, therefore less likely to care about accuracy.

"Why the anger management session anyway?" he asked for curiosity's sake.

"My brother – he's a pest," she said, shrugging her shoulders as if that was all the explanation needed.

"Younger siblings can be a pain, I'll give you that," he agreed. "I have a younger brother too."

Her eyes visibly brightened at that.

"Really? What's his name?"

"Sam."

She absorbed that for a moment before her features twisted with disgust.

"Jeremy is suuuuuch a cry baby," she complained. "He asked me what caterpillars were 'cause we saw one, and all I said were they were these enormous green worms that liked to live in the ears of annoying brothers. He should've known I was joking."

He smiled at her admiringly.

"You're absolutely evil, and I love it," he complimented. "Once, I told Sam that every time it was his birthday he had to give _me _presents for putting up with him for so long. And he actually bought it."

"That's _genius_," Elena cackled. "I am _so _telling Jeremy that."

"I wouldn't. Don't want you to get into trouble with your mom."

She gazed at him, scrutinising him, as if trying to figure him out. He was sixteen, and she was eight – their worlds couldn't have been more different. She was still in the middle of those years when kids were supposed to be having the time of their lives, ignoring the impending adolescent years – suffice to say, he'd never had any of those years himself, but he knew how the world should've worked thanks to years of moving around and switching schools like there was no tomorrow – and he honestly envied her for it.

"How old are you?" Elena asked boldly.

"Sixteen."

"So you're, like, twice my age," she said, looking proud at the fact she'd figured it out.

He didn't know why, but that fact made him wince. He was sixteen for Christ's sake. Why was he not hanging around people his own age? He felt so damn awkward here, in a home that hadn't seen any tragedy or horror, and not even this spirited little vixen was enough to convince him he could fit in here.

"Guess I am."

She smiled, and he noticed for the first time two of her teeth were missing, but it just made the sight more endearing all the same.

"Caroline says the oldest boy she knows is her cousin Liam, and he's only like thirteen. Now I can tell her I know someone who's sixteen."

He ruffled her hair, and he could tell it annoyed her so he continued doing it.

"What? Is that annoying?" he teased.

"Don't you have your own brother to annoy?" she asked, visibly annoyed now.

"I do, but he's currently annoying yours, so that leaves me here on babysitting duties."

_"I am not a baby!" _

He was enjoying this too much, this sense of rapport they'd rapidly built up together. She wasn't like any eight year old he'd ever met before; all the ones he'd encountered were either shy, snotty, bratty, or all three.

Dean took advantage of this moment to examine her closely. Aside from her strikingly warm eyes, and her coy smile, there was something else about her he couldn't put his finger on. He just had this feeling she was going to grow up and be someone that broke every boy's heart in her quest to find the one that would break hers. Boys his age he knew from experience had no more clue what they wanted than girls, so they would go through several girls, basically acting on desire and lust, until they found the one that made them decide to act on their heart not their head. He tried to envision what kind of boy would go with Elena, and the image his head conjured was some dangerous looking guy in a biker jacket because somehow he couldn't see her having that white picket fence life her parents had.

Why was he even thinking about all of this anyway? He wasn't supposed to be thinking of her like this, trying to picture her entire future based on a few minutes' worth of conversation.

"I'm joking," he sighed, noticing his father had suddenly appeared, giving him a meaningful look that told him they were ready to take off again.

"You have to go," she guessed, peering around him to observe his father.

"'Fraid so." He ruffled her hair one more time for good measure. "You gonna miss me?"

"No," she snorted. "I don't even know you."

"I'm hurt by that. I was being so nice as well." He took the pillow from her and threw it at her face, prompting her to erupt into a fit of giggles. "That's what you get for being a spoiled brat."

He rose to his feet, helping her get to hers too.

"Be nice to your little brother," he felt the need to add. "By all means have your fun with him, but you're gonna need him someday."

"When?" she looked distasteful at the very idea. "He's my _younger _brother. If anything, he's gonna need _me_."

"I need my little brother," he said simply. "And I'm sixteen."

He left her with that, smiling as he noticed her eyes followed him as he went to the back door, slipped past his ever watchful father, bade a polite goodbye to Miranda and Grayson, met Sam at the door and walked out, not even sparing the house a second glance for fear something greater than anything he'd ever come across might compel him to turn back and beg to stay in the one environment he craved (in secret, he did have a reputation to protect) to be entombed in.

"You have fun with the Gilbert kid?" he asked Sam as they hovered by the Impala, waiting for their father to come back.

"Sort of." Sam shoved his hands in his pockets. "Kinda weird when a little kid asks you to pretend you're a monster when we know there really are monsters out there."

"That kind of innocence must be nice," Dean replies, leaning on the body of the Impala.

"I want that innocence," Sam murmured.

Dean looked at his little brother, at the lines of discomfort gathering on his young face, and had that conflicting feeling of wanting the best for his brother but at the same wanting him to be as excited by the prospect of hunting as he was.

"I know," he replied heavily.

"So how was hanging with an 8 year old girl?" Sam's voice suddenly had a teasing lilt to it. "Can't have been much fun for you."

"Actually it was a blast. We just spent all that time bitching about how annoying it was to have a younger brother."

"You're such an idiot," Sam muttered, opening the door and climbing inside the car.

"Yeah, but I'm your idiot _older brother, _so mind your manners," Dean called, grinning as he made his way to the passenger seat.

* * *

A/n: I have this headcanon that before Elena's parents died, and before high school, she was a little terror particular to Jeremy lol. I just think that that was when her Petrova side probably reared itself before she knew about anything about the supernatural world, so this was really fun to write. Thank you all for your reviews. I'm aware Dean/Elena are a popular crossover pairing so I hope you like my spin on things.


	4. Haunted

Wayward Children

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Summary: A series of unrelated drabbles/one-shots – some interconnected - centred around Dean and Elena's sometimes-more-than friendly relationship.

...

_#4_

_Haunted_

...

"So we're just here to visit someone?" Sam sounded extremely dubious. "Dean, it's a small, picture perfect town."

"So?"

"You hate 'em. You make a frequent joke about the fact that the only thing that would liven them up would be having a dead creature inhabit it," Sam pointed out. "Who do you even know who lives here?"

"Someone you won't remember because it was years ago, and I think you only got a glimpse of her anyway," Dean replied, pulling the Impala outside the house he'd grown to know as well as the back of his hand. "You played with her kid brother – Jeremy, I think his name was."

Unfortunately, being what he was, it meant faces and names just jumbled together, with only a few sticking in his mind. The people he saved usually weren't memorable, just grateful souls who were eager to get back to some sort of normality after he rolled out of town, so it was easy for their faces to slip through the cracks of his mind. Occasionally some would stick, but usually for the wrong reasons. There was a guy he and his dad had once exorcised, and for some reason it still remained conditioned in brain to attack them, even after the demon had been expelled from his body, to which John had made a quick note in his journal to make sure to keep an eye on the people they saved from possession until the danger was truly gone.

"I remember lots of kids, Dean." Sam gave him a pointed look. "Even when I was a teenager, and Dad insisted on dragging us with him to visit people, I was made to hang around the kids of folks we were investigating. It sucked."

"C'mon, Sammy. It gave you a taste of normal life. You know? That thing you keep wishing your little heart for?" Dean gave him a teasing smile. "Didn't you at least enjoy pretending to be the older brother figure on at least _one _occasion?"

"You're an ass," Sam grumbled, and simultaneously they stepped out of the car, examining the house with varying degrees of wariness on both their faces.

"That's why you love me," Dean said, his voice trailing off at the aura the house gave off; before, it had been bursting with life and colour, but now it seemed like it was a shell of what it had been before.

There was no aesthetic difference, of course, that brought him to that conclusion, but he knew traumatic events could change the atmosphere around a home, making it so that even strangers knew there was a perceptible coldness to it which hadn't existed before.

He walked up to the porch, hesitating for half a second before climbing up the stairs, approaching the door with a degree of wariness, his breathing pattern hitching at how familiar this all looked. Nothing really had changed, except a few things had been repainted, with a few additions to the flower beds he hadn't immediately noticed.

With a trembling fist, he knocked on the door twice, startled when a young woman with red hair answered, his first thought being that Elena and her family had moved from the address he'd always known (sometimes scribbling down on the back of an old newspaper just to keep it embedded in his brain), but there was something so _Miranda _in her eyes, a spark of curiosity and combined fierceness that told him maybe she was a relative, and he remembered vaguely Elena once mentioning an aunt when they were comparing notes on who had the weirder family.

"Hello?"

"Hi, my name is Dean," he said, extending a hand which she warily took. "I'm an old friend of the family."

"I don't remember Miranda mentioning a Dean," the woman replied, her voice low and laced with caution.

_Smart woman._

"Maybe she might've mentioned my father? A John Winchester?"

Vague recognition flashed across her face, the distrust slowly ebbing away.

"Now that name I remember," she said, nodding. "I met the guy once. Didn't trust him."

He'd become an expert at reading between the lines, picking up on the fact that this woman was trying to determine whether there was any truth to what he said which, let's face it, was a move you only tended to make if your world had been clouded by the supernatural, or, perhaps more likely, if you'd been surrounded by people who'd broken your heart claiming to be something they weren't.

"Not many people who meet my father do at first, but he's a good guy," Dean said loyally. "Just not the kind of man you wanna meet in the dark."

He chucked inwardly at his own private joke.

"And are _you_ a good guy, Dean?" Jenna crossed her arms, her gaze intense.

"I try to be," he replied honestly.

Her lips twisted into a half smile.

"So, how can I help you? I'm assuming you heard about what happened to my sister and her husband? The funeral was a month ago." Was he imagining the accusatory quality to her tone? "Probably too late to send flowers."

"I'm here to pay my respects, albeit I might be a month too late." It was a good excuse as any. "This is my brother, Sam."

Sam stood stiffly beside him, smiling politely but otherwise perfectly aware this wasn't their usual errand at all. For once they were not clad in suits, and they weren't sporting fake ID badges, but were simply themselves, here both to probe for information about their father's whereabouts (he might've passed through here, it was worth a shot) and to pay their respects to the deceased Gilberts. Mostly the latter though, if he was being strictly honest with himself.

"Jenna, who's at the door?" came a familiar face, and he couldn't help but stare at the girl who came to stand by her aunt at the door, her hair now past her shoulders, and yet the same rich oak brown colour he remembered from all those years ago.

"Dean," she breathed, and he wondered how she still recognised him seeing how he'd made himself a stranger to her.

"You know him?" Jenna sounded surprised. "He's a little _old _to be your – "

"He's not, before you even say it," Elena cut across her aunt. "He is – _was_ – an old family friend."

There was a raw emotion to her voice he couldn't quite place, but he looked at her, and the innocence to her had disappeared without him even realising. Her eyes looked sunken, glazed over with this permanent sadness even time wouldn't be able to erase. She seemed skinnier than he remembered, but not enough to merit concern, and she had this habit of folding her arms every so often, as if she didn't quite know what to do with them. She looked seventeen, and that was the age he was sticking to in his mind, and yet it was still not okay that even after all this time, even after their brief history, he still couldn't help admiring how she'd blossomed after all this time.

"Well, do you two want to – " Jenna began, but Elena cut her off before she could finish her sentence.

"I expect they're both too busy to stay," she said, and there was a meaning to her tone that Dean picked up on instantly, sensing she wasn't entirely happy that he'd made this unexpected visit.

"Not at all," he interrupted smoothly. "We would love to come in, if you're offering."

He aimed this at Jenna, who looked confused by her niece's behaviour.

"Come in then, and I'll make you both a drink," she said, her tone warmer than it had been when they'd initially made contact with her.

Dean gave Sam a loaded look, and the two of them walked inside the house, both looking around for different reasons. The interior had changed a little, with new photos hanging from the walls, newish wallpaper plastering the walls, but otherwise it was just as he remembered. He watched as Elena disappeared upstairs, and giving Sam a meaningful look, made to follow.

He slipped in through her door before she could close it, noticing with some consternation that her room had changed from pink paradise to this cream themed decor that showed a progression of maturity he'd missed.

"I see you've not exactly lost your habit of invading people's privacy," she said snippily when she'd realised what he'd done. "It's been, what, four years since the last visit?"

"Possibly. I don't really keep track of time," he confessed. He eyed her scowl with some surprise. "Why the hostility, Gilbert? You used to_ love_ me once upon a time."

"Back when you were my punching bag, and you and your dad kept to a schedule, and when I actually meant something to you," she replied coolly. "A lot's changed since then, Dean. I'm technically an orphan now. My brother barely acknowledges me. My aunt lives with us." She gave a disheartened sigh. "Everything that was constant about my life has changed completely, and I'm still dealing with it, so please excuse me for not jumping in delight that you're here."

The way she carried her words struck a chord with him, because she spoke like someone who'd seen too much tragedy to believe in the best of life. He'd seen far more than she could ever imagine, but she'd lost both parents, and, from what he'd heard, nearly lost her life herself, so perhaps in terms of tragedy she had the edge over him.

He perused her room with interest, noting the newer items with the kind of interest a best friend might observe. He didn't know why it fascinated him to see her world again, but it did. It was a taste of the normal his life had once had before everything had changed for good, and as much as he wanted to tell Elena that life got easier, it just didn't. He didn't want to attempt to seal their broken friendship by heaping more lies on top of the ones he'd already told her.

He turned back towards her, noticing she eyed him warily, her stance tense, and he recognised he probably hurt her by not even dropping a message to let her know he was still alive and still thinking of her, but life had just simply gotten in the way, and his father had been convinced the yellow eyed demon was somewhere in the region of Kansas, only to discover a spate of disturbing demons and other supernatural horrors along the way. But how could he explain all that to a girl whose only encounter with death had been down to an accident, something that hadn't been propelled by the supernatural, or been part of some grander scheme, but simply down to fate and fate alone?

"You look good," she spoke, her voice devoid of all emotion.

"So I've been told," he remarked jovially, winking at her, before the smile slipped off his face. "Elena... I'm so sorry about your parents."

"I get that a lot." She bit her lip, clearly on the edge of saying what she _really _wanted to say. "Nobody knows anything else to say to me."

"Your mom and dad were good people..."

"I get that a lot too," she said, laughing humourlessly. "I wish that they'd say what they really mean, that they're glad it wasn't them who suffered such a tremendous loss." She turned away, sitting down on her windowsill, glancing away from him. "I didn't just lose my parents that night, you know. I lost Jeremy too, a part of him anyway. We were always close, and now he's just... He doesn't talk to me." Her voice started to shake a little. "I just... I need my little brother right now, because no one else gets it. Jenna is going through her own thing, but my brother acts like a ghost, and it breaks my heart a little, you know?"

He strode across to her, grabbing one of her arms and pulling her into a gruff hug.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured against her hair, which seemed to be perfumed with a scent unlike any other he'd come across, a cacophony of sweet flowered fragrances that tickled his nose.

"I'm not gonna ask where you were all these years, because I realise you don't owe me an explanation," she replied, her arms wrapping around his back, squeezing him tightly as if afraid he would slip through her fingers. "You're always gonna be a drop-off-the-face-of-the-planet-from-time-to-time kind of guy, but I just... I missed you so much."

"Of course you did," he replied cockily, breaking the hug so he could look at her. "I'm the dorky older brother you never had and never wanted."

"No, if you were my dorky older brother, you'd at least call or write from time to time," she said pointedly, finally smiling. "You never told me what it is you actually do when you're off on these road trips."

The smile slid from his face.

He'd promised himself to tell her everything, yet now the moment had presented itself, he found he was chickening out of telling her. Why torture her with the knowledge of what was really out there in the world?

"I'm a traveler. I go where the wind takes me." It wasn't too far from the truth. "I don't particularly have_ a_ job, I just find work where and when I can."

"Fine. Be vague," she grumbled. "I'll find out one day."

He smiled humourlessly at that.

_No, you won't, _he thought. _I'll make sure of it. _

"Don't worry about your brother. He's going through his own thing right now. It won't last forever."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because me and Sam didn't talk for a long time," Dean told her openly. "And it sucked, but it didn't mean we didn't still... you know..."

"Love each other?"

"I wasn't gonna put it like a pansy, but yeah," Dean joked. "We just know whatever personal crap we're dealing with, it doesn't change the fact we're brothers, and it's the same with you and Jeremy. Nothing will ever change the fact you're brother and sister, and one day he's gonna get his head out of his ass and realise that."

Elena shook her head, looking amazed.

"How is it you always know what to say? Seriously. It's annoying. You swan in here like you own the place, and still your advice just kicks ass."

She suddenly pressed a hand to her lips, evidently remembering something triggered by what she'd said.

"My mom hated me swearing," she said weakly. "I know ass is kind of a mild swear word, but she would always have a frown on whenever I said it, that kind of frown that says she's mad at me for using it, but also knows I'm old enough to use that language." She peered up at him with eyes tinted with the glimmer of tears. "I miss her." Then, a sob, followed by, "I hate feeling this way."

He folded her into his arms, almost willing for the hurt to go away because, when he was old enough to realise what had happened to their mother, that hurt had spread slowly over his body like poison, settling in like some parasitic emotion which festered on and under the skin. Grief wasn't something you got over in a day, a month, or even a year; it settled in your heart, always plaguing on your mind, and no amount of time healed that particular wound. You just had to stick a misshapen band-aid over the wound and hoped it would be enough to stem the tide of suppressed grief.

"Dean – " Sam's voice interrupted them, his head sticking awkwardly around Elena's door, his eyes widening slightly at where he'd ended up. "Er – I'm sorry. I'll just – "

"Come in." Elena's voice was soft like velvet as she appraised his brother. "You're Sam, right? I think I remember seeing you once when you were younger."

"That's right," Sam said, greeting her warmly. "I'm so sorry about your parents, Elena. I recently lost my girlfriend in a fire, so I can understand what you're going through."

"Oh God, a _fire_? I'm really sorry."

"Yeah." Sam stuck his hands in his pockets, clearly uncomfortable now he was getting sympathy from the very person who had been herself only moments ago complaining about the fake sympathy everyone seemed to hand out to those who'd suffered a tremendous loss. "It kind of sucks everyone telling you the same words over and over again, but there don't really seem to be many other words you can say."

"I know."

"I get this little pity party here is for the bereaved only," Dean cracked, attempting to insert some humour into the conversation, "but how about we go somewhere and catch up? Know anywhere good, Gil-brat?"

She hesitated for half a beat at the familiarity of the nickname, and then a smile dawned on her face, lighting up her features. It wasn't quite genuine, but the fringes of it bordered on complete sincerity, and he would take it in a heartbeat.

"I know your affinity for pie, Dean, so actually I know a perfect place that caters to that very need," she replied.

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Don't tell him that, or he'll never leave."

"I'm offended at the insinuation that my entire life revolves around pie," Dean fired at him. "But pie sounds _reeeeallly _good right now."

He slung a loose arm around her shoulder.

"Yo, Elena, have you seen my – " a half awake Jeremy (or maybe stoned, judging by his appearance) called, walking into her room, without so much as knocking, before eyeing the two grown men who stood around her, his eyes widening a fraction, his features scrunching up like he was trying to figure out a difficult sum. "Um..."

"They're old friends," Elena explained, catching the confused stare her brother threw her away. "They're here to pay their respects to Mom and Dad."

"Whatever," Jeremy muttered, slinking away, instantly clamming up at the mention of their parents.

Dean watched Elena as a shadow crossed her face, before she fixed a semi-happy expression on her face ready to present to her two guests. How had she gone from a spunky little minx with hardly a care in the world, to a girl who had to plaster a fake smile on – presumably every morning – to convince the world (and herself) that she was okay? She looked _haunted –_ living, but not really alive. Having been so young when his mother had died, he couldn't really remember if he'd ever really _mourned _before. Sure, there were times when he thought about her, but it was in a nostalgic way, a kind of fond remembrance for the life he'd once lead, and that in itself was pretty disconcerting. Here you had a girl who had no clue how to deal with all these emotions, and he was pretty much the worst person to have swept back into her life because, let's face it, he was not the kind of guy who expressed his emotions unless pressed to do so.

"I want to get through to him, but I can't," she murmured, pressing her lips together in a sad line. "Does this being an older sibling thing ever get any easier?"

"Not really." Dean exchanged a look with Sam, as if almost daring him to argue. "I guess all you can really do from this point on is just be there when he needs to talk. God knows little brothers can be the absolute worst sometimes." He almost smirked at the look Sam gave him after that remark; mock contempt wasn't one of the better expressions Sam had ever adopted. "Jeremy will come round."

"When?" Elena's eyes were round, haunted, her skin a mere shade away from white. "He's spiralling and if I can't pull him out of it...who can? It's not like he's ever had many friends who could talk him out of it."

Dean rested his hands on her shoulders, peering down at her, almost as if trying to will the hope back into her body.

"He'll come round," he reiterated firmly. "Just – just give him time. And space." Another glance was exchanged with his own brother. "Sometimes that's all you need to give 'em." There was a brief pause, before he clapped his hands together, eager to break the awkward tension. "So... about that pie..."

Elena and Sam burst out laughing, and he was startled by the realisation that laughter made them look both so... _young, _so carefree, and he was overtaken by a rush of affection for them both.

Yes...coming back here had been a good call after all.

* * *

A/n: Apologies for the delay in getting this next chapter up. I'd written it last week but just hadn't the time to post it. Hope you enjoy


	5. It's The Thought (Of You) That Counts

Wayward Children

...

Summary: A series of unrelated drabbles/one-shots – some interconnected - centred around Dean and Elena's sometimes-more-than friendly relationship.

...

_#5_

_It's The Thought (Of You) That Counts_

...

On her 12th birthday, unlike other girls, Elena had wanted an outdoor party, a party by the banks of the river which flowed underneath Wickery Bridge. Her mother had advised against it, saying eleven and twelve year olds plus water was going to equate to a disaster, but she'd been insistent, painting quite the picture with her description of what she wanted, which had included a picnic by day, lanterns by night.

When writing her invitations, she'd made sure to write all hers months in advance (because according to Caroline you had to make sure nobody could have an excuse to cancel on the grounds of short notice), handing them out at school, well aware her popular status meant everyone would be there.

There was one she couldn't send, however, because she had no idea where the recipient lived, but still she kept it tucked in amongst the pages of her favourite book – _The Secret Garden, _because she'd loved the idea that a new world could be nurtured in the grounds of one which had been otherwise neglected by time – hoping for the day when she could hand it to him in person.

Her parents were cagey about Dean, only saying that he was a good man, perhaps a little rough around the edges but only because of the way he'd been raised; she had a feeling her parents thoroughly disapproved of the way he'd been raised, but she couldn't understand why and they wouldn't have told her even if she'd asked. She did however get the feeling they trusted him around her, which, according to Caroline – who was still acting like she'd made up Dean, all because she'd once had an imaginary friend she'd talked about all the time, yet going along with it anyway because that was who she was – seemed kind of creepy.

"It is!" she'd said, when Elena had raised an eyebrow in her direction. "What teenager actually _likes _hanging around kids? I'm ten, and still a kid myself, but I can't stand babies and all that."

Elena had always managed to filter out the borderline offensive remarks from the genuinely helpful advice Caroline had to offer, and to be fair she couldn't really offer much information about Dean which would make her think he was real. Who would believe in a man whose visits to Mystic Falls were infrequent, who only dropped by for a quick stay, very rarely for an overnight stretch?

On the day of her birthday, her parents went overboard (in a good way) to make her party the talk of the town. There was a place where the adults convened and to keep their eyes on the cluster of children swarming the banks, most apt swimmers, with the ones who couldn't swim as much sprawled lazily across the grass, chatting about anything and everything. Caroline, naturally, was draped in the classiest looking one piece swimsuit (still too young for a bikini her mother had warned her), unsurprisingly not even in the water, just yearning to show off in front of the nicest looking boys, but this method quickly became apparent, and, fed up, one of her jealous rivals couldn't resist bumping her as she walked past so that Caroline ended up falling in the water, a loud squeal piercing the air which raised some concern amongst the parents until they realised it was just harmless pranks and left them well enough alone.

Elena smiled with contentment, surveying the scene before her with the eyes of a girl who knew she had everything she wanted. Her smile faded a little, however, when she realised everyone was here but the one guy she wanted to see.

Matt stumbled clumsily towards her, presenting her with a card before pressing a clumsy kiss to her cheek.

"Happy birthday, 'Lena," he said, grinning at her.

They were on the cusp of going out, but Matt wasn't making any move to ask her, and she was in no hurry to navigate him in that direction. He was sweet, possessed the warmest eyes she'd ever seen, and was a perfect gentleman, and they'd been friends for years, since their sandbox days, but he was too shy to make his feelings known and she wasn't quite sure whether she felt that way about him.

Growing up was without a doubt the trickiest part of life.

"Thanks, Matt," she said gratefully, leaning forward to kiss his nose playfully, knowing the action would send him in a frenzy.

He'd never been like the other boys, passing crude notes about girls they liked across the classroom, pinching and poking and ridiculing the ones they actually secretly wanted to go out with – he'd made it perfectly clear since day one really that she was the only girl he wanted to be with. Such affection could be overwhelming, but Elena rather liked it.

He smiled giddily and walked away, back to Tyler and his other goons, and she watched them, unable to help smiling with affection at all the people she'd grown up with.

The day quickly went by, and it came to a point where most of the adults had gone home, taking their children home with them; only Matt, Caroline, Tyler, Bonnie and a few others remained, standing idly by as Elena's parents helped light several lanterns before giving them to each of them, standing back as they released them one by one, the night sky suddenly alight with the glow of these beautiful lanterns.

Elena wandered down a little away from the group, finding herself on Wickery Bridge, sighing softly, unsure why her party had been both an imminent success and a disaster.

This bridge had a lot of history, and housed water which looked unfathomably deep. She'd heard rumours about people diving off the edge for thrills, and wondered if that would be here in a few years time.

"Well, well, well... if it isn't little Gilbrat."

She whipped around at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Dean!" she squealed, before instantly trying to tone down her reaction. "S'up?"

"S'up?" he repeated, striding towards her before ruffling her hair. "That's what you're going with? Don't try and act cool in front of me – I taught you that trick, remember?"

"You came back," Elena said contentedly.

"You always sound so surprised."

She locked eyes with him.

"That's 'cause I never know if you're coming back or not," she explained, lightly bumping him.

"Happy birthday," he said, pulling her into a gruff one-armed hug.

When he pulled back, she took the time to study him, noting how every time he came back, a little something about him had worn away, whether it was the merry twinkle in his eyes, or the spring in his step, some quintessential habit of his which made Dean the guy that he was. He was taller than she remembered, his shoulders broader, and he'd taken to donning himself in leather, another change about him.

"You remembered?"

"Well, the balloons and the giant ass banner were the real giveaway," he admitted. "I'm not so good with birthdays – remembering them, that is. I can barely keep track of my own. In fact," he frowned, "I can't really remember the last time I celebrated it."

"That's sad," she commented.

"Nah, birthdays are stupid. Why the hell would you wanna celebrate the day you were born? You don't remember the event, so to speak, so why celebrate it?"

"You're so cynical."

"Forgive me for not seeing the world in rainbow colours like you do," he snapped, and she flinched, taken off guard by the hostility in his tone.

After a pause, he sighed.

"Didn't mean to yell at ya. Rough week, you know?"

"Wanna tell me about it?"

His eyes locked with hers.

"Gonna have to take a rain check on that. Only passing through this time."

She averted her eyes, unwilling to show her disappointment.

"Do you ever stay in a place long enough to call it home?"

"No," he said simply. "But, you know, it's good. I like living on the road. Keeps me sane. Reminds me what life's about you know?"

"And that is...?"

"Gotta make each day count, 'cause you don't know which one will be your last," he said wisely.

She couldn't help but cast her eyes at the murky waters below, absorbing that piece of wisdom in silence.

"Caroline thinks it's creepy that you like hanging around me," she said, mostly to break the silence.

Dean studied her carefully.

"What do _you _think?"

"I like you, Dean," she said, avoiding his gaze. "But other than the business with my parents that your dad has, I really don't know why you keep coming back. I like that you do, but I don't understand it."

He chuckled humourlessly.

"Think I get it anymore than you? I'll level with you, kid, I don't make friends that easy. I tend not to want them because I move around a lot, and I don't believe in all that long distance crap. I don't do relationships. I do one night stands." He suddenly paused, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Better forget I said that last part. You're too innocent to know the sordid ways of the world."

"I'm twelve, not eight," she reminded him. "I know more than you think."

He shuddered.

"God I hope that's not true."

She laughed.

"So what is it about me that keeps you coming back, huh?" she asked, unleashing her flirty eyes to try and coax a genuine answer out of him. "I'm nothing special you know."

He scoffed at that.

"You're more special than you know, Elena. You got me to visit the same place at least twice – that's not an easy task, let me tell you. Not many girls can say they have me wrapped around their fingers, not when they're usually wrapped around my..." He suddenly glared at her. "I really need a censor when I'm around you."

She burst out laughing.

"You still think of me as that eight year old girl, don't you?" she teased. "I'm practically an adult you know."

"_Practically an adult..."_ he mimicked, teasing scorn buried in the tone of his voice. "Yeah, right. Look at the size of you: you're too short to be an adult!"

"Bully."

"Brat."

"Idiot."

He grinned, his eyes catching sight of a flashing car behind him, which stopped just where the bridge started.

"S'my dad," he explained.

She averted her eyes.

"You're leaving."

It wasn't a question.

He nodded. "I'll be back though."

She scrutinised him, waiting for traces of a lie to show up on his face, perhaps in the form of a telltale sign, like a deep blush, or shifty eyes, but either he was an excellent liar or he intended to come back; she didn't want to believe the first, so her heart settled on believing the latter scenario.

"Thanks for coming," she said softly, reaching up to kiss his cheek. "You missed the picnic though... we had lots of pie..."

"Pie...?" Dean's eyes widened fractionally. "Damn it. I always miss pie."

He pulled such a ridiculous face that Elena burst out laughing, grabbing his arm before giving him a push in the direction of the Impala, which made an impatient noise – or maybe it was his dad, she couldn't tell – waving goodbye as he sauntered away, giving her one last glance before he slid effortlessly into the passenger seat.

Elena wasn't entirely sure what to make of Dean, but she'd begun to know him well enough that there was another life he lead entirely that he couldn't – and wouldn't – tell her about, and it was something that both thrilled and exhausted him. She hated lies, hated secrets, but sometimes people kept things to themselves for good reasons, kept a part of themselves from public display because no one would understand if they revealed everything about themselves to the world.

"Hey," Caroline called, breaking into her thoughts. "Where you been?"

"I was with – " Elena turned to introduce Dean, but the Impala was gone, and so was Dean. "I was just by myself," she finished lamely.

"Why?" Caroline questioned, furrowing her brow. "The party's all the way back there. Let's celebrate!"

And grabbing her hand, she led her back to the party, all the while Elena realising whatever party spirit she'd had, it had left with Dean, but that didn't stop her plastering on a smile and delving back into her party, laughing as Tyler and Matt started a food war with the remnants of the picnic, Bonnie enveloping her into her arms, as if sensing she wasn't entirely there right at that moment, and it only took moments later to realise it was perhaps better that her and Dean lived in these separate worlds. He wouldn't have been able to tolerate her friends, and she wouldn't have been able to tolerate his bad habits – the swearing, the innuendos he slipped into casual conversation etc. – yet the fact their worlds happened to collide just rarely enough to make it special intrigued her, made her re-evaluate everything in her world.

He made her question everything without even trying.

She just wondered what kind of affect she had on him – if any – which compelled him to come back time after time.

* * *

A/n: Apologies for not updating this in, like, forever, but I lost inspiration and then a bunch of Dean/Elena feels came from nowhere and I was inspired again to write. I love the support for this fic, it's amazing, so thank you for all your reviews you wonderful, wonderful people


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